I Do Not Understand That Reference
by SfumatoSoup
Summary: Jim doesn't like Spock much. Spock is confusing. Spock Prime transference issues from mind meld. Kirk goes to look something up, and Spock gets whats going on and everybody freaks out. And then there is falling in love shenanigans. Spock/Kirk Spirk.
1. Chapter 1

Yeah, so, this is my first foray into the Spirk fandom. So. Awww yisss all the breadcrumbs all the time.

WIP with regular updates because I have a lot more written than I intend to post all at once because I am a jerk.

Warnings: none at this point with the potential of NC-17

Pairing: Spock/Kirk

Star Trek 2009-verse.

Summary of Story: Jim doesn't like Spock much. Spock is confusing and sort of a jerk. Basically, when Spock Prime did the mind-meld on Delta Vega there was some unintentional transference. This causes major issues for Jim but he has no idea what the cause actually is. He tries to figure out what is actually going on, and Spock is all like, oh, holy cow. I think I know. Oh darn. What now. Shenanigans and drama and love because that is how I roll, bro.

Chapter summary: Basically, Jim wakes up from an alarming dream and stares at himself hatefully in the mirror for awhile.

0000

Jim bolted upright and tumbled out from the comforts of his bed in a cold sweat yet again from yet another unfamiliar and unsettling episode sponsored by the Dreams from Fucking Hell.

He sighed wearily as he untangled himself from his blankets, and shaking off the sheet still wrapped around his ankle, stumbled his way into the bathroom.

Splashing cool water into his face, Jim longingly yearned for a hypo or two or three that'd make him into Sleeping Beauty for a few centuries or so.

But, then again, a visit to Bones for another hypo to ameliorate the relentless curse of disruptive dreams would be counterproductive, particularly since the Doctor was already salivating for any chance at all to toss his friend under the microscope.

Ah, Bones. Good old Bones.

Friend or not, that man held the power to strip him of command if he deemed it responsible to do so, personal sense of loyalty be damned.

Jim admittedly, had used every last excuse in the book to avoid an examination. But with good reason.

Because at best, should the Federation be clued in to his current state of crazy he'd be assigned nothing but milk runs for the indeterminate future, at worst, he'd be stripped of command and sent back to Earth and locked away til they could get his head put back on right.

As far as Jim was concerned, the Constitution class Starship was his, and he would be damned if anyone tried to take his precious, hard-earned baby, the finest lady in the fleet away from him. They'd have to pry her from his cold, dead hands.

But at the very least, he was honest with himself. He knew he was on the brink of collapse.

He was just so fucking tired all of the time and frankly, though his poker face was awesome, and while his crew outside of the Bridge seemed oblivious, there was no hiding it from within.

Every time he snapped at Sulu or Chekhov or Uhura or, dear lord, his first officer... and everyone just sort of was ignoring the problem out of respect, he imagined. Or pity. Or out of fear of being disciplined for insubordination or whatever the pet rationale of the day was to inflict punishment. No one wanted to be working in the engineering room under the charge of the chief engineer cum slave driver.

Scotty was the only one lately benefiting from any of this, actually. He gleefully reaped all the assistance he could garner from Jim's descent into unrelenting crankiness, shoving the poor victims he left in his wake down the Jefferies tubes for a good old fashioned elbow grease grunt job of routine maintenance.

There was a level of self-loathing he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with lately. He hated what he was becoming, but similarly, couldn't be bothered to give a fuck.

He caught their silent exchanges of concerned raised eyebrows. He recognized how everyone seemed to be delicately avoiding directly approaching him about the situation that was not A Situation.

Captaincy, as a whole, was, in theory, everything he had been trained for and was naturally equipped to handle. Only, going from being among peers to overseeing them had a distancing effect. And now, he was just a jerk. Kirk the Jerk.

Kirk is a Jerk. Now that was something, wasn't it? Or was it?

A flicker of deja-vu was there and then gone again before he could blink.

He shook his head to clear the passing nagging feeling of barely there recognition and dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

It was no wonder Bones was on his back like a flee on a dog, constantly hounding him to get his ass down to sickbay for an eval.

A fancy little shrink session was not on his agenda.

No one had actually uttered the word, 'unfit' with regard to his command in earshot, but he could see it in all of their well-intentioned, meaningful glances of concern.

Not that he was prone to being overly charitable toward Spock, but out of everyone, he observantly respected his recent taking-no-shit attitude and backed the fuck off for once, ceasing the incessant critique.

It was like a goddamn Christmas Miracle. With less of the old Terran Yule-tide festival and more of the holy-fuck bless this turn of events.

Previously, his First had always been the first never to dodge a chance to leap down his throat at the first given opening, the opportunist, pointy-eared prick . Whatever tentative connection they had made while working together to destroy the Narada has dwindled since they had begun their mission not 4 months ago.

Spock was always there just a breath behind him with his superior everything questioning every decision he made and otherwise undermining his authority in nearly every capacity in any given circumstance.

Always the master of wielding the blade of passive condescension, and he'd strike quick and clean.

For some absolutely out-of-left-field reason, this prompted Jim to conjure an image of a disturbingly shirtless Sulu brandishing a samurai sword with a crazed look in his eyes.

Jim shook his head to clear the ridiculousness and snorted with an ugly laugh. He really was not okay.

Upon completion of Alpha shift, Jim often found himself fleeing down to Engineering to douse his wounds in the blessed bliss of liquor. Using Captain's prerogative to nab just a bit from Scotty's conveniently immense 'secret' stash of Saurian brandy. Because Synthehol just didn't do the trick.

It was a justifiable palliative, basically, liquid suppression to resist from throttling the neck of a certain infuriating half-Vulcan.

Because, in all honesty, suppression was key. An actual physical altercation would not bode well for the human. He knew from first hand experience just how strong Spock could be if that little display on the Bridge immediately after his miraculous return from Delta Vega was anything to go by. And if Jim wasn't dead, then he'd certainly be under severe disciplinary action from Starfleet. Again, risking expulsion from his beautiful Lady was not an option just for a bit of cathartic strangling. Jim had his priorities in order.

Mostly.

If he was feeling particularly maudlin, he'd admit to himself, he did, in fact, care what Spock thought of him. He did want his approval. His respect.

Personally, he knew he was smart guy. He knew he was a tactical genius and goddamned prodigy and knew what the fuck he was doing. Yet, this irreparable professional relationship he had with his First was miserable.

He didn't believe in no-win scenarios except where he and Spock were concerned.

How could he salvage a thing that didn't even exist in the first place?

He was feeding on an illusion of hope that was proving futile when he knew better. He'd been burned before.

Avoiding waxing nostalgic about his wayward youth was no hardship.

Really though, if he had learned anything in Iowa, James Tiberius Kirk should have known better than to blindly trust anyone really, let alone some stranger from an alternate universe and time line.

Which, was basically one of the several reasons why he was avoiding transmissions from Ambassador Selek. Old friend? Debatable. He had a massive soft spot for the guy, but really? He only felt a sliver of guilt when he'd press ignore and conveniently forget to respond at a later time.

At any rate, he could get his updates on New Vulcan from the Fed message boards on the topic. As far as Jim was concerned, it was healthier not to give in to his strange desire to be overly familiar with the only version of Spock who seemed to appreciate him. It only made him resent his Spock more anyway, which only made matters worse.

Ultimately, he felt down right, straight up lied to. Other Spock had promised him some supposedly super important, life-alteringly awesome, epic friendship, if not in words exactly, then from whatever unintentional transference happened during that mind-meld on Delta Vega.

He had felt what seemed to be echoes of deep attachment to that other version of himself emanating in soul-rocking waves from the old man. He'd been wholly unprepared for the sudden barrage of familiarity, overwhelming fondness and all encompassing respect, understanding and compassion from a man whom he had barely known and had just seconds before, identified as the very same asshole who'd just dropped him on an icy death planet for supposed mutiny.

He had felt shaken afterward. So much so, that Jim had pocketed the whole thing away into his head to avoid looking at it too closely.

A very small part of him was terrified to overturn that rock.

The thing was, it seemed like every time he and this world's Spock moved one step forward they fell two steps back.

It was like, this perfect idea of what could be, had become ephemeral. Just a whisper of a promise, like a malfunctioning transporter unable to materialize the subject in transit. The subsequent feeling of absolute loss was eating away at his self-esteem. Why wasn't this version of Kirk good enough for this version of Spock?

Apparently this time line's Kirk wasn't meant to have nice things. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It seemed unfathomable that he should resent another version of himself, yet there it was. That man had a father. That man had a lifetime of support and love that was a foreign concept to Jim. He had nothing in common with that man. Nothing.

What sucked the most was that he had let himself grow enamored with the idea that he could have some kind of awesome connection to Spock. He could admit that the man was brilliant and amazing, and they had worked together seamlessly to defeat Nero. It literally had felt like he was fulfilling some sort of destiny when Spock had agreed to come aboard, and he was all for living out this grand cosmic plan. But then it had literally come back to bitch slap him in the face, reminding him that he was the master of his own destiny.

A one man operation of Team Free Will was a bitter pill to swallow.

It was barely feasible to work with a man who could see every kink in his armor and use it against him, let alone rue the loss of some alleged bond with him he'd never have.

He had been dealt a bad hand that had forced him to concede. It was a disillusioning betrayal that that rose-tinted time line that would never come to fruition.

But Jim needed to count his losses and move on. He was an adult. He could cope with disappointment. Hell, he'd been trained all his life to do so.

Though, he did seriously regret petitioning Pike to aide in convincing Spock to accept the position in the first place.

But, perhaps his resentment prevented him from being grateful for having the most efficient and capable Commander Starfleet had to offer.

Generally, he did wonder what was the actual selling point for Spock to accept the position under him in the first place.

If Jim was feeling particularly vicious, he imagined it was all delayed revenge for getting Spock booted as unfit, post destruction of Vulcan so he could come aboard and drive Jim to the breaking point.

And, then again, maybe his lack of sleep was creating a caustic paranoia that had somehow projected it's skewed rationale for Jim's keen sense of disappointment at a rejection he knew Spock had no way of knowing he could be responsible for, to the man himself.

It was, after all, maybe a bit unfair to expect something from someone oblivious to what they were supposed to deliver. Sometimes Jim thought he was pissed at himself more than angry at being strong-handed into aborting his unrealistic expectations. It wasn't Spock's fault. He didn't know they were destined to be epic space bros.

Jim wasn't sure what it was about that situation, but contributed his stress over it to the influx of dreams he was having. It was like, the more he was around Spock, the more he thought about the man, the more fucked up they would get, which in turn meant Jim, in spite of being painfully self aware of his own irrationality, found himself despising Spock just a little bit more every time he was within line of sight.

Perhaps he needed to stop dwelling and over self-analyzing and get some fucking sleep.

If the joke the Cosmos was playing on him would ease up and let him.

There was a shore leave coming up and he would take care of the problem then. Con Bones into more sleepy-time hypos, lock himself into his cabin and pass out for a good, solid 48 hours.

He'd be fine.

He put a damper on his wandering inward self musing and snorted in disgust as he looked at himself in the mirror; the water dripping from his chin and rolling down his chest.

Grabbing a towel he wiped himself dry and knocked his toothbrush to the floor. Grimacing, he picked it up and tossed it in the sink.

It was pathetic to feel so much self-pity. But seriously. Even his toothbrush was against him this morning.

Looking back into the mirror at his haggard expression he could clearly see the strain of sleep deprivation from the bruised rings encompassing his blood shot eyes and the lines developing around his mouth, the tell-tale signs of light stubble that he could give no shits to shave.

Any vestiges of vanity remaining had been decimated. He hadn't gotten laid in months. Not that he had much of an opportunity to do so with respect to his station's fraternization policies, but even if he'd had the chance, his very healthy, and rather notorious libido was practically nil.

At least he knew the mechanics were still operable if his sheets had anything to say about it.

Which they did.

It was strange though. He would have contributed it all to exhaustion or stress but, for some reason, he'd felt an unsettling sense of sexual lock down for months before the Narada incident had commenced.

During the downtime of the Enterprise's refit to repair the damage, he'd hit up an old reliable contact or two, and both times had been horrified by his lack of...gusto. His under performance was depressingly emasculating. He was far too young to be this dysfunctional. He would have been even more concerned, but at least a good old fashioned date with the right hand seemed to work just fine.

Only, he had a very unnerving inability to draw from any of his old tried and true spank bank files. They'd all been corrupted by this insidious, creeping, alien notion that he was supposed to be with someone specific. An unnameable, unidentifiable specific. There was something less gratifying when jacking off had become mechanical and reduced to basic tension relief.

And with the decrease in logged-in healthy sleep time, he was basically condemned to franciscan monkhood status.

It was an untenable situation. His brain was a fucking, cock-blocking asshole.

Jim blamed the dreams. They were basically wrecking havoc with every part of him lately. Crazy, inexplicable dreams like nothing he had ever experienced. And he knew all about crazy, fucked up dreams.

He'd survived Tarsus IV.

But these had a different flavor altogether. The scenarios in his dreams played out cyclically and always, Jim remained a physically dissociated viewer, imprisoned within to watch the scenes coalesce and play out, unable to interact or change them. He felt what he felt as well as whatever emotions were felt by this dream vessel.

This last one he was standing among a group of Romulans as they held a conference in which he was aware that there was no threat to his person.

It seemed he was both welcome and unwelcome. A subject of mixed suspicion and respect.

In retrospect, the content and setting, always was inconsequential in view of the fact that he would suddenly be seized by an inexplicable, undefinable, debilitating pain. A pain of dread, loss, despair. The scene would fade into another in which he stood, strangely self aware, alone in an unfamiliar cabin within an unfamiliar facility.

He could sense the individual he embodied was both familiar and yet alien. He would feel this person's utter, soul-piercing aloneness. A hideous undefinable, intense sensation of having been torn, without forewarning from something vastly important.

He would be overcome by the sense of it and collapse to the floor and shiver, crushed, aching and fragmented and so, so angry.

So angry for feeling angry. For being unable to reign in and master the anger he supposedly expected himself to be capable of managing. Even more conflicting, was this self righteous resentment at feeling as if he was supposed to be handling this anger that raged within.

Seriously, when does that make any sense?

The worst of it was the emptiness. The vacancy.

The void where something had been and was no longer.

He would whisper, 'T'hy'la', whatever the fuck that meant, in a deep, gravelly, foreign tongue and shattered tone, and suddenly be ripped from the dream to jarringly wake in his own familiar, dimmed cabin every time, confused and hurting for some phantom unknown. Keenly aware of being no longer encapsulated in another, once again within the safe familiarity of his shorter, compactor, younger but weaker self.

This was the worst one. There were others.

Unfamiliar situations just familiar enough to be processed as recognizable, but they were so far fetched that Jim begrudgingly marveled at the complexity of his brain.

And they had only been coming with increasing and troubling regularity.

He recognized the players in his dreams sometimes. But while Uhura was Uhura, or Sulu was Sulu, or Bones was Bones, they were also different and seemed to interact with him differently. He knew things about them through familiarity, things that were impossible to know. And he had to question their validity. Were these things he didn't know about these people? Or were they simply constructs invented by his very fucked up dreams?

It effected him to a degree in waking life, when he'd have to take pause and sift through what he actually knew about a person, and what strange information he had catalogued about them from his dream interactions.

For instance, he would find himself waiting for the inevitable crack Chekhov would make about his home country and when it wouldn't happen he would find himself taken aback by it's absence.

It was unsettling feeling a kinship with his crew as if he'd known them for years, when they had only just begun their mission.

The worst of it was he never felt like himself and the familiar players in his dream treated him with a certain fond distance.

It seemed always that his physical body and sense of self felt different. He felt leaner and taller and stronger and always cognizant of proximity. As if he was untouchable and cared to remain so. And Jim knew that he, personally, was a handsy, demonstrative kind of guy.

Or maybe the worst of it was actually the dreams of completeness, of belonging to someone and always being in tune with them. He'd awaken dripping with sweat and sticky release and his heart stuttering a mile a minute in his chest aware he'd just been involved in the hottest sex he could possibly imagine with some figment, intangible upon waking. And the crux of it was, instead of a happy wet-dream afterglow, he just felt utterly, painfully, unsatisfied. Bereft. Incomplete.

It was beyond frustrating.

"Computer, raise lights 30 percent," Jim voiced, dropping back onto his bed pulling his PADD off the adjacent shelf.

He logged into Starfleet intranet and browsed the Active Mission section of the Enterprise bulletin board to check for mission updates on the routine science expedition they were headed. It was boring but there would be a plethora of fauna for Sulu to gush over, so at least someone was stoked about it.

Most of the message board consisted of his Lieutenant happily answering everyone's inquiries with enthusiastically detailed descriptions of the new plant life they were about to obtain samples of and the subsequent care and handling, blah, blah, blah, boring.

However, not even that could put him back to sleep.

It was 300 and he still had 3 hours before Alpha shift, so Jim tugged on a clean regulation work-out shirt and wandered the dimmed corridor making his way to the Observation Deck as per usual.

It was conveniently vacated as it typically was at this hour, considering most of Beta shift was either socializing in the rec hall or headed to bed and Gamma would be on duty at this hour.

Jim collapsed into a seat and stared upward and outward. Nothing like a humbling dose of space-gazing at the universe to give a man perspective.

000

tbc, and comment because its cool, yo.


	2. Chapter 2

WIP. Got more parts to post soon, peasants. Back away from those pitchforks, I realize I'm a ways off from any feel good times.

Chapter Summary: Jim is sleepy. Sulu is excited for plants. Uhura is bored, Chekhov is sassy, Jim and Kirk yap at each other in a turbolift, and Scotty knows wtf he's doing, bro, so calm your face.

0000

It was going fine, actually, considering the amount of times Jim found himself on the brink of nodding off in his chair.

They were en-route at a fuel-efficient warp speed which meant no one was getting anywhere in the next 48 hours of so. It was so routine, that even though the shiny brand newness of being in outer space to explore strange new worlds and seek out new life and new civilizations and basically boldly go where no man had gone before had still yet to wear down to status-quo. Not one person on the bridge seemed particularly enthused to be there, save perhaps, Chekhov, who basically was 10 so everything was exciting.

Spock hung out over by his science station periodically entering data and bending over and looking into that sensor scan thingy, keeping properly preoccupied.

Uhura was blandly staring out in front of her, clacking her nails against the dash and Sulu was keeping in time with the beat by tapping his stylus on the screen in front of him.

Kirk yawned and stretched and nothing else happened.

And then he was startled awake by an intense feeling of eyeball laser beams burning a hole right through his skull.

He matched gazes with Spock, and sat up in his chair feigning alertness by clearing his throat and issuing out a random order.

"Chekhov, approximate destination time to Epsilon Flos II?"

"46 hours, Keptin!" the chipper Russian chirped.

"Thank you, Chekhov."

"You see my update on the prospective flora, Captain?" Sulu inquired.

Jim groaned inwardly, "Yep."

"I fixed the regulation quality of the environment for the containment house for our samples, I'm eager to see if they'll be as evolved as I suspect."

Chekhov sniggered, "You're alvays eager to get your hands on-"

"Pavel, one word for you," Sulu warned, elbowing his companion, "Blue fish."

The ensign flushed scarlet and turned back to studiously focus on his screen.

Jim raised an eyebrow as he reevaluated what he knew about his fellow officers. Blue fish? Whatever that meant.

And also, since when were the two of them so buddy-buddy?

He shared an innocuous shrug of amusement with Lietenant Riley and glanced around to find Spock still staring at him with a disapproving frown.

"Commander?"

"Captain, may I speak with you in private?"

He could have sworn he heard Sulu murmur to Chekhov a sing-song, "uh-ohhh" and then share the tiniest of chuckles.

"Sulu," Jim barked out.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Remember that time I jumped out to save your sorry ass from free falling to a certain death?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Next time, I won't be doing that," Jim raised his eyebrows in a show of seriousness.

But actually, he'd jump out after any of his crew at any time, which he knew they all knew.

Because he was the best goddamned Captain Starfleet had to offer.

For the most part.

"Yes, Captain," Sulu acknowledged turning back around, attempting to look properly chastised.

"Alright, Mister Spock," Jim said rising from his chair giving his neck a good crack, "out we go to speak in private."

Spock followed the Captain and waited until the doors to the turbolift slid shut.

"You were sleeping," Spock immediately accused in a dead-pan, straight to the point, no beating around the proverbial bush of let's-not-actually-call-the-Captain-out on-things.

He apparently hadn't gotten that memo.

"I was not sleeping. I was relaxing my eyes. Eye strain. It's been a real bitch lately."

Spock momentarily paused, "Have you seen Doctor McCoy to remedy the situation?"

Way to take him at face-value. Score 1 for Jim Kirk.

"Yeah, I might have mentioned it to him at some point, I'll get him to give me something."

"You were sleeping, Captain," Spock repeated, no-nonsense. "If you are unwell, you merely need to say so and I will cover your shift while you report to Sickbay for treatment."

Jim eyed Spock suspiciously.

"Oh dear Lord," he muttered under his breath, "Don't tell me you and Bones are in league now, never thought I'd see the day. Look, Spock, for the last time. I was not sleeping. I know computers never have to blink, but, seriously, I shut my eyes for like, two seconds. Stop trying to blow everything out of proportion."

"Your sense of time is obviously skewed. It was exactly 7.5 minutes. And, I am unsure of whether you are insinuating that I am a computer, but I am certain there is a difference between shutting ones eyes and sleeping. I am also certain you are not stertorous when conscious."

"Are you saying I snore, Spock? Because I have been reliably informed I am a perfectly respectful bed-mate." Jim bounced his eyebrows up and down coquettishly at his exasperated first Officer.

"I have no inclination to test the validity of this statement."

"Oh, you though I was offering?" Jim grinned, "You flatter yourself, buddy, that's one hell of an ego you got there."

Spock glared at Jim with a pinched expression and huffed through his teeth while rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Aw, is the poor baby Vulcan annoyed?"

"I am incapable of feeling annoyed, and I am not an infant," Spock clarified levelly, "If you are not well it would be irresponsible of me to allow you to continue to perform in your limited capacity, as it poses a risk to your crew."

"Okay, thanks, Mom."

"With all due respect, Captain, I am not your Mother, as you are well aware, and I request that you address me by my formal title or if you must insist on being unprofessional, then by my given name," Spock leveled Jim with a stern look, "Also, your frequent use of sarcasm with me is both puerile and unflattering and does not inspire respect."

"You don't respect me anyway. Actions speak louder than words, and you don't fool anyone,Spock," Jim retorted crossing his arms.

The Vulcan hesitated briefly and looked down at the floor before looking back up at the Captain.

"You seem inclined to assign me with subjective and highly innacurate summations.

"I'm entitled to my opinion when my opinion is incontrovertible fact," Jim bit out.

Spock shook his head, "That too, is an inaccurate summation. All of this is beside the point. I acknowledge what you are doing. Once again, you attempt to prevaricate by leading us away from my original point."

Jim giggle-snorted, "Your point is an inaccurate summation."

He was reaping far too much pleasure from egging Spock on.

"This conversation is obviously fruitless, Captain, you are incapable of acting in a way that befits your age and rank, and I cannot-"

There was a sudden jolt that tossed the lift sideways and both men, unable to brace for the impact, hit the wall with a resounding thud.

Spock, acting on instinct, protectively reached for Jim, for a split-second gripping his elbow before whipping back like he'd been burned.

Spock stared down at his hand with a bewildered expression while Jim righted himself and scanned for any possible damage to himself or the inside of the turbolift as the lights flickered briefly before returning to normal.

"Ow, what even," the Captain complained, rubbing his shoulder as he flipped open his comm, "Lietenant Commander Scott, report, what the fuck was that?"

"Ah, aye, abou' that," Scotty's voice replied, "We knew of the potential of a situation but y'know, sorta considered it a low level threat. I should'a reminded yeh to brace yerselves that we were near t' travelin' round that sort of hungry little implody-bit I had detailed in my report."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Implody bit?" Jim voiced in confusion.

"Well y'remember when I'd said back last week in that memo, that we'd be far enough away so it weren't too much of a problem, only my projections didn't calculate for the unanticipated flux in shift of the Ergosphere and uh...so...we sorta got tugged a bit into it's orbit."

"So what you're saying to me, Scotty, is we almost just got a little bit sucked into a Black Hole?" Jim responded, mouth agape.

Spock schooled his features to an absolutely unreadable expression and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Well, technically, no, laddy. We jus' skimmed the accretion disk for a fraction of a second and bounced off the wall of a hyper-magnetized electron field. It glitched the circuitry and momentarily shut off our repel cloak. Computer's back online and I've got the system running a full scan to locate and circumvent similar zones in our course a' trajectory. Don' yeh worry, Cap'n, this Lady's in good hands."

Spock seemed to be more than troubled by this news and avoided looking at Jim, "He should have reminded you."

"Excuse me?" Jim stared at Spock blankly.

"I am merely reiterating what Lieutenant Commander Scott had said because I find it alarming. He had informed you of the potential of this situation, and I was unaware of it until now or I would have informed the Bridge."

Jim grimaced, clenching his hands into fists, awaiting the completion of Spock's accusation.

"Perhaps I ought to revise your interstation memos in order to prevent future omissions of this nature, since you appear to be unreliable with providing me this critical information yourself."

Out of self-preservation, Jim kept silent as they re-entered the Bridge, "You all okay?" Jim asked looking around at his recovering crew. Uhura rubbed her knee and glared at him in response.

Jim frowned guiltily. At least the rest of his crew would not be aware of his rather embarrassing lapse in responsibility.

Also. he pacified himself with the knowledge that it could have been far worse. So there was that, and to be fair, it wasn't exactly a monumental error. He had a lot on his plate and it had completely slipped his mind.

Not that Spock would make any allowances.

Minus 100 points for Jim Kirk.

"Keep on course, Sulu,"

"Aye, Captain."

000

tbc, children, tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

WIP

Chapter summary: depressing dreams and more of Spock and Jim butting heads. But, oh ho hooo, maybe their dialogue leads to a possible resolution of sorts...and then, questions are asked.

0000

Jim was running.

His heart beating a mile a minute twisted within his gut as his short but nimble legs were near to giving out, but they kept him fleeing forward even still, with the constant rush of terror-induced adrenaline pumping through his system.

As he dodged obstacles along his path, he could hear and feel the beat of the beast fast approaching from behind. It was so dark, near black, and the ground was hard and unforgiving beneath his feet.

His shirt caught on a stray desert plant and it tore with a loud ripping sound as he frantically freed himself from it's clutches.

But it was too late, the gigantic, green beast leaped in for the kill, sharp fangs bared and gleaming in the night. Jim braced himself for his sudden and certain end, when a flash of brown crashed into the beast. This provided Jim with just enough time to scale the side of a nearby hill in an attempt to escape, he turned to watch as the two creatures circled each other roaring ferociously, in what Jim imagined was an argument over who would make him dinner, yet apart of him suddenly realized with horror, that the brown furry bear-like creature was his beloved pet, defending him against the other predator.

Why he knew this, he had no idea, the bear-thing was absolutely terrifying in Jim's mind, but apparently not in that of his latest vessel.

He watched in horror as the bear-thing gave a strangled fatal sounding cry, and before he knew what he was doing he leaped down from the rocky overhang onto the back of the green monster and the scene faded to black.

He came to awareness, huddled beside the dead body of his friend. There was a part of him aware of two other figures standing behind watching as he knelt beside the beast, clutching with a heart-rending desperation at it's thick brown fur and aching for the loss with gut-wrenching guilt. He felt shamed for the unbidden tears streaming down his face.

Ashamed at his failure. He quietly moaned something that sounded like 'lakiyah' and buried his face in it's still warm side. He had made a decision to allow for it to pass with peace and dignity, and only for that did he feel any sort of consolation.

Jim had felt as if this had all begun because of some desire to prove himself, a child striving to be a man, though he was unsure of why or for whom he wished to prove himself, only painfully aware that his reckless actions had cost him a loyal friend and that he had failed.

When he awoke, it was with a heavy heart and a wet face.

Jim groaned and wiped his face on his pillow and pulled his treacherously aching and exhausted body from his bed.

For a fleeting moment, he considered switching routine and working out prior to shift start, perhaps in an effort to re-energize, but the spinning room and acute twinge of pain behind his left eye convinced him to maintain his habit of spacing out on the Observation Deck.

Haha. Spacing out at space. Jim smirked to himself.

It was the little things.

The memory of the dream faded as he headed out of his room, no use analyzing a dream he'd had several times before.

Yeoman Rand nodded pleasantly to him in passing and Jim let his eyes follow her passage willing himself to find her attractive. It was a lesson in futility, of course. Objectively, she was choice. Those legs and those lashes had most people captivated in a heartbeat. Goddamn, did Jim Kirk theoretically want to hit that. Alas, his brain had unwillingly thrust maturity and integrity upon him.

He had done quite a bit of growing up in a relatively short amount of time, granted, but a lot of it was due to his disturbing dive into the unfamiliar realm of asexuality.

Jim stretched out over two chairs, one leg folded under him, and gazed out at the never ending blackness beyond.

Academy had bestowed him with a bit of an overblown reputation that first year before Bones had literally caught him by the scruff of his neck and dragged his bare ass into the bathroom. The man had tossed him into an icy cold shower and threatened him with sterilization in the dead of night if he caught him one more time banging a latest conquest in their shared room. The girl he'd been caught with had grabbed her clothes and booked it before he could salvage his pride and suggest a reroute to her dorm.

Bones pulled that whole stunt with reminding him about how he'd knocked up Jocelyn, shot gun wedded her bun in the oven and all, and then had that and the entirety of the planet jacked from under him in one fell swoop in their subsequent divorce.

It had an impact.

He had calmed down and cracked down on the books pretty hard after that, but it didn't prevent him from being a notorious, equal opportunist flirt with any attractive man, woman, alien or anything in between that crossed his path. It wasn't that he had become overly discriminating, it's just that, he was tired of notching his belt over vapid anybody's.

It was decisively more engaging to go to bed with an individual possessing of a modicum of substance. Someone he could challenge and in turn be challenged by, In recent years he'd only dated Gary Mitchell and Carol Marcus, both stimulating in their own respects and highly intelligent as well as being fabulously... flexible.

The whole thing with Gaila, granted, was more of a casual thing, but it certainly had the benefit of providing him with that lovely little subroutine he used to break the Kobayashi Maru, Spock's little pet project he was so pissed about at the hearing addressing Jim's potential expulsion.

And that was a double edged sword. It was impossible to thank his lucky stars for averting expulsion and making Flagship Captain when it came at the price of the destruction of the Federation's most important ally and the near decimation of an entire species.

Morals. He had them. In spades, actually.

A throat cleared gently from behind, alerting the Captain to another's presence breaking Jim from his reverie.

"Captain?"

Jim glanced around and grinned up at Spock, though inwardly he cursed his luck at Spock encroaching upon the one place he least expected to see him at this hour, "Up early or trouble sleeping?"

"I would ask the same of you, but I suspect the latter."

Jim smirked. Stupid Spock and his stupid ability to be all put together and eloquent at the ass crack of dawn. Not that dawn was anything more than a concept this far out in space.

"Naw, I'm good, just getting, you know, up for the day, set for those Captainly duties I've been assigned."

Spock raised an eyebrow, "Indeed, I came here to meditate, but I can do so elsewhere, I will leave you to your preparation."

"Yup, catcha down in a few, Commander."

Spock paused momentarily and looked back at Jim with a pinched expression of confusion, "Catch me down where?"

"Catch ya on the flip side, Spock," Jim huffed impatiently dismissive.

"What exactly is the flip side, Captain?" Spock frowned inquisitively tilting his head ever so slightly to the left and Jim imagined it might have been endearing on anyone who Was Not Spock.

He rolled his eyes heavenward, "It's a turn of phrase. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Spock stared uncomprehendingly at the Captain as he silently revoiced to himself, 'pretty little head'.

"I'm not distressed only mystified as to your continual insistence in using imprecise speech laden with idioms when you have proven to be more than capable of expressing yourself in a professionally concise manner."

Jim gaped at Spock, unsure whether to be affronted or amused.

"Isn't it a bit early for you to be schooling me, Commander, especially when we're not on the clock? How will people know how dumb I am if you don't make sure they're actually there to witness you pointing it out?"

"My observation was not intended to offend you."

"Oh, you mean that veiled compliment at the end about how I'm actually capable of not sounding like a complete dumb-ass."

"That is a succinct interpretation. I merely attempted to clarify whether you are fully cognizant that we routinely engage in sensitive discourse, representing the most powerful Federation in the known universe with alien species unaccustomed to your peculiar turns of phrase, particularly when, with respect to your position aboard the flagship of this organization you are the primary representative."

Temporary cease fire these last few weeks be damned. Between yesterday in the turbolift and today... that didn't fly.

"I would cry insubordination, Spock, but I want so much to give you the benefit of the doubt, because, half the time I don't know whether you are fucking with me, or whether you are actually that much of an idiot."

"I assure you, Captain, I am not "fucking" with you, and your use of profanity is unnecessary, but since I am familiar with your crass provocations, I will do you the courtesy of refraining from complaint. As to your accusation that I am being insubordinate and your inquiry if I am indeed, that much of an idiot, I can also assure you once again, that I intended no offense and take none where you may have intended it in turn."

Keeping control is something they teach early on in Command Training, so Jim breathed deep and smiled placidly in response.

"Well that matter is settled then. Thanks for the repartee, Spock, better than a cold shower and a cup of coffee, any other rejoinders or have you gotten it all off your chest?"

Spock pressed his lips together to form a thin, displeased line and took a deep breath through his nose. Jim hated that nose. He hated Spock's whole stupid face.

The commander seemed to shake his head ever so slightly in an attempt to regain his control which Jim found satisfyingly amusing.

"I would say I have nothing on my chest, but that would just incite you."

Jim laughed, "See, I really don't get you Spock, I really don't know if you have a problem with me, or if you're trying to be funny, or if you really are, just that literal."

"I neither have a problem with you, as you say, nor am I intending to use humor, Captain," The Commander stared at the floor for a brief moment before seeming to formulate his next thought, "though I have not previously mentioned it, I am concerned about your drop in efficiency as well as your emotional reactivity, as I believe it is due to a stressor you have failed to report to myself and the Doctor as well as a significant increase in chronic fatigue."

Jim leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head, "Is that your professional diagnosis? You trying to usurp Bones' position on this ship? 'Cause he is not going to be pleased with that."

Spock's stoic expression momentarily darkened, " I find it unusual that you should deny recognition of your recent mercurial shifts in mood and apparent inability to self manage your emotional responses."

Jim groaned inwardly. He felt like the pandora's box he'd been sitting on for months was about to be opened.

"I had been previously of the impression that you were possessed of rare insight into the psychology of others based upon previous observation of your ability to secure the loyalty of your friends and crew as well as your commendably considerate diplomatic fluency and am troubled to think you are currently unable to utilize this skill upon yourself," Spock continued,

"I have noted on 42 separate occasions over the course of our mission a 62 percent decline in efficiency that has increased in occurrence by 20% since 4.25 weeks ago."

"Numbers aside, Spock, I'm fine, just a little tired. Don't worry about it. But I'm flattered you care," Jim drawled, propping his feet up again, "I'm also sort of uh...whats the word you use? Gratified. I am gratified that you think I can charm the pants off of all the aliens we meet. Particularly since you just got done telling me I'm basically shit at it."

"I-" Spock shook his head slightly and furrowed his brow, " I never said you were deficient with diplomacy, I thought it would be relevant, however, to point out your tendency to use often inappropriate Terran slang and unfamiliar idioms since it may potentially confuse or offend. Particularly, since not all of the sentient beings we encounter even possess pants that may or may not be charmed from them."

"But here is the flaw in your logic, Spock. Name one situation I have handled indelicately so far."

"Aside from myself and this particular situation, I know of no others I can factually cite."

"So, what I'm basically able to draw from this, is that you are personally offended by the way I speak to you?"

"Vulcan's do not take personal affront, Captain."

"But you're only half-Vulcan," Jim smirked.

"You have pointed that out on more than one occasion and I am fully cognizant of my origins, therefore, it seems irrelevant to consistently mention."

"Do you realize how ludicrous this entire argument is? I mean, what the hell, Spock, you're on a ship full of Terrans, and for the most part, we all speak this casually."

"I am aware. My mother as well, favored less formal speaking patterns. Though she was less inclined to your more colorful turns of phrase, thus my unfamiliarity."

"Which is why, even if you haven't heard every last Terran bit of slang, I don't get how you're so personally uncomfortable with it. I mean, it's not very culturally sensitive of you."

"I am not uncomfortable, nor am I being-"

"Oh! Oh, I see what's going on here. You have no problem with other people doing it, it's just me. It's always just me. Because there is something about me that personally irritates you. This doesn't have anything to do with how I actually speak! I totally get it. It's like you get a personal satisfaction out of making sure you can always bring me down a peg, you spiteful son of a bitch."

For a brief terrifying second, from the flash of unbridled rage in Spock's eyes, Jim thought for sure the man would strike him.

"You remarked on my cultural insensitivity yet you would-"

"Oh for gods sake, Spock, it's a thing people say when they're mad, I'm not actually implying your mother-"

"Enough. I am aware of what you meant and what you did not intend."

"I think we're done here, actually. Can we just agree that we've both said some things that we shouldn't have and get on with it?"

"I concur, there is no necessity in continuing this line of conversation, as you appear to be growing increasingly more resistant to reason and I do not endeavor to aggravate you further. I would like to state, that I have never had any intention of purposefully antagonizing you, nor have I ever sought to, as you say, bring you down a peg."

"I'll let it slide that yet again you subtly managed to make me sound like I'm the one being out of control and unreasonable, but fine."

"Then, before I depart, do you intend to address the situation with your health?"

"I'm handling it, Spock."

"If you do not, I will be unable to refrain from informing Star Command that you are potentially unfit to resume your post."

Jim landed both feet back on the ground and sat upright daring the other man to stand his ground.

"Are you threatening me, Spock?"

"I am not threatening you Captain, I am warning you of your impending breach of policy which with respect to protocol I will be forced to adhere to procedure if I believe you are risking the safety of your ship and crew. I am cautioning you to take responsibility for yourself."

"Because you would be so terribly sad to see me go, Spock," Jim sighed wearily, running a hand down his face with exasperation, "You'd just be heartbroken if you were forced to sit in that command chair, wouldn't you."

"Contrary to your beliefs on this matter, I have never desired command for myself, Captain."

Jim snorted, "That's news to me. You can't hold back from amending every single order I give out."

"Yet another inaccurate summation, Captain. I believe you are adequate in your position and you have proven you have the potential to be sufficient in the future. Presently, you must comply with procedure and address your personal issues," Spock seemed to soften, "I cannot maintain maximum efficiency when I am handling the responsibilities of Head Science and First Officer as well as-"

"Covering for me? Is that what you're getting at Spock? Stop shitting me. And to hell with all your policy and procedure bullshit. You're dodging the point. You haven't respected me since day 1. I should-"

Jim stopped abruptly as an ensign entered the observation deck, and upon seeing her commanding officers, immediately fled. Spock had the audacity to look discomfited, giving Jim momentary pause.

"Perhaps, if you still wish to continue this conversation, we should do so in a more private-"

"Command override Kirk, oh-one-oh-three, lock the observation deck."

This was going to be a Mexican stand off.

"I am done with your insubordination, Spock, I think you should resign your post at the end of this trip to Epsilon Flos II, we'll be near enough to a port where there's a fed space dock, so you can return to Earth right away. I'll put in good words for you. Hell, maybe you'll get command of your own science vessel or something. I think it would be in both of our best interests if we-" Jim yawned, exhaustion softening the edge of his anger, "if we didn't work together. We obviously differ in-"

"If I may, Captain," Spock uncharacteristically interjected, "Jim. I do not want to be a Captain of any ship. I want to remain in my current position."

Jim shook his head, "Why? You're not happy. I'm not happy. Frankly, I don't care what you want."

"You are incorrect in assuming I am not content here. I believe you suffer from a misconception that I purposefully antagonize you."

"I think we are done here. I don't want to have to make this an issue. It shouldn't be. This is my ship, Spock, and you clearly barely tolerate me, so leave."

"I do not mean to disobey you by resisting your suggestion, but I will not consent to resign because you insist our contention is irreconcilable . You must clarify if your sudden desire to have me resign my post is if I have indeed, specifically done something that has made you dissatisfied with my performance as your First Officer. Or if-"

"You're a great First, Spock, you are, but that does not excuse your impertinence or your continual defiance and refusal to follow simple, direct orders without questioning my authority at every turn."

"It was my understanding of this position that I have been in, with not only you as my Captain, but as a First to your predecessor, that we were to work together to come to decisions and if I deemed that they needed adjustment I should have a certain amount of leniency as well as a degree of immunity from your discipline to restructure your orders within reason. It is my belief, that you are are overly exhausted and thus, emotionally compromised. I have never considered you intractable nor prone to the sort of absolute authoritarian leadership you have been demonstrating as of late, so you will excuse me if I do not assign much value to your previous complaint."

"Your point is fair enough, but quid pro quo, Spock. You won't assign any value to my more than valid complaints, then I won't to yours. I stand by what I said, you should resign."

"I am content to remain," Spock argued appearing somewhat ashen, though his tone remained infuriatingly moderate.

"Yeah, you're content to stay here with your girlfriend, that's about it, and you get your jollies off at making me look like an ass in front of my own crew. Yeah, great. You want to stay."

"I recognize you have been performing at less than sufficient levels, and I have never intended to undermine your authority or lessen the respect that should be granted to your position," Spock furrowed his brow in confusion, "and I certainly do not desire to remain aboard because of 'my girlfriend' as I should understand the significance your culture applies to that term, it would be irrelevant to myself as I do not have one."

"You- your what? Wait," Jim backtracked, "Uhura?"

"Nyota and I have no such arrangement."

"But-" Okay, he was backing away from that one, "Right, nevermind about that. Give me one good reason why you want to stay."

"I feel I contribute to the overall smooth operations of command and can verify this statement with documentation and reference."

Jim sighed. He didn't know what he wanted to hear, but he couldn't seem to voice what he wanted either, so Spock's clinical self-evaluation would have to suffice. It wasn't like he wanted to deal with the resulting fury from Star Command that officially ejecting Spock off the Enterprise would invite, though, he wouldn't mind stranding him on a '_probably'_ barren ice planet.

"Fine. Stay. I am not...displeased with your performance, Spock, you're a great first Officer, and granted you haven't been crawling up my ass all the time lately, either."

"Crawling up your ass, Captain?"

"ah, my bad, I forgot you don't speak Normal People. Allow me to translate: You, being a complete dick on the bridge anytime I say anything. Christ, can't you figure these things out by context? But, anyway, "Jim sighed, his headache flaring, "You've been a little more decent recently, and so you know, then I think, oh maybe this is going to work out after all, but then seriously? Like what you just did, here, this morning, by inferring that I suck with diplomacy because I don't speak like a computer? It's like you make it your life's mission to make my life a little bit harder. Like, you go out of your way to be an ass, and if you say anything about _Equus africanus asinus _or posteriors I will literally not be responsible for the consequences of my violent overreaction."

For a moment, it almost seemed like Spock wanted to smirk.

"Indeed, it would be an overreaction, and I would not be at fault for defending myself, though Doctor McCoy would most certainly give me cause to regret your extended stay in his Sickbay," Spock paused to regroup and relaxed his stance by leaning against the chair beside him, it was almost humanizing getting a glimpse at a less that perfectly rigid Spock.

"Everything you have relayed to me at this juncture is disproportionate to the truth, Captain. I do recognize we personally 'butt heads' as you would say, at times, but I never have intended to purposefully irritate you. It is my opinion that you seem unjustifiably reactive-"

Spock cut himself off in order to pick his words carefully, smoothing the creases from his shirt as he carefully sat himself down opposite the Captain.

"Captain...Jim, I will attempt to desist from displeasing you in the future if I am aware you may have a negative reaction. I never intended to. I have only ever attempted to perform to your satisfaction and aide you when necessary."

"Yes, thanks for making me sound totally overly sensitive. But, Okay. Understood Commander, I shall relieve you then before we begin our shift, if there is nothing further?"

Jim found himself growing edgy with this unfamiliar, softer version of Spock and tried with a measure of futility to keep from getting suckered into responding to those soulful brown eyes as they stared at him consideringly. Like Spock was trying very hard to put something together. Like he was suddenly piecing Jim out and seeing him for the first time.

And, like he had something more to say but was hesitant to voice it.

And Jim hated not knowing things.

"What? What is it?" He asked, finally breaking under the pressure of his curiosity.

"Precisely how long has it been since you have suffered with sleep loss?"

Jim frowned, "Uh... I guess for awhile now."

"Have you any insight as to the possible disturbance of your typical sleep patterns?

"Well," Jim huffed out a breath and leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs, "Uh...I have these really annoying dreams, or something, I guess."

Jim didn't feel like sharing too much with this sudden, interested-in-his-well-being version of Spock, the very same man, he had not mere minutes before been insisting resignation from.

"Vulcans are not prone to experiencing the REM phenomena of dreams in quite such a way as is so prevalent among your species, but I have been informed that one should seek assistance with prolonged atypical disruption."

"Yeah, well, Bones was giving me hypos but..."

"I see, out of self-preservation to remain in command, you are disguising the severity of the issue."

"Not doing the best job of it, but I'm probably just overly tired."

"The frequency has increased?"

"It's not the frequency so much as the content."

"Nightmares?"

"Uh...not really, look, why are you so interested, it's not like you can do anything about it."

Jim paused for a moment and it occurred to him that he was sitting across from a telepath.

Spock seemed to be momentarily too wary to say anything further and stared at the wall just behind Jim's head, with a contemplative expression.

"I could, potentially assist you. There is a way I could possibly redirect them from the forefront of your subconscious."

"Um, Spock, no offense, but nobody gets to mess around inside my head. I already had one Spock in there, and one was enough. Thanks, but no thanks."

Spock's eyes widened as he processed this information.

"What," he queried carefully, "exactly do you mean by that."

All of the sudden, Jim realized the immense error he had made, and attempted to backtrack before the world exploded, "I mean, Ambassador Selek, hah did I say-"

Oh, dear lord, abort, abort! Jim cursed his terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease.

"No. Jim," Spock interjected recognizing Jim's sudden alarm, "you are mistaken if you think I did not know the Ambassador's true identity. He revealed it to me months prior to encourage me to accept the position aboard the Enterprise. I need to know precisely what you meant by him having been in your head."

"Oh," Jim relaxed, as he took a moment to regroup before beginning his explanation.

In the background, Spock watched as a distant star shot across the atmosphere.

Jim grinned. "Well, it was kind of like this."

0000

ahahaha. Tbc, tbc. Lolllll.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, my dears! I am really sorry I abandoned you for so many days without an update. Life is a demanding mistress.

Anyway, mind meld chapter. Things are revealed to Spock. Jim is left confused.

0000

"So what you are saying is, he chose to mind-meld with you as a way to deliver vital information in the shortest duration of time?" Spock inquired with some level of visible surprise.

"Um, yeah. Basically. Why?" Jim frowned, "It's not like it was really that big of a deal."

Spock huffed a breath of disbelief, leaning back in his seat, hands folded before him, "Captain, it is, as you would say, 'that big of a deal'. A mind meld is not frequently utilized even in the most pressing of situations, even as you have illustrated in this scenario, with members of psi-null species. It is even rarely utilized except within extenuating circumstance with those who are not considered intimate acquaintances or family members."

"Ah," Jim responded with hesitation, "Okay so... it happened. It's not like it was... look, he inferred he'd done it before like, loads of times with uh... Other Kirk."

Spock seemed taken aback as he processed this new information, "I see."

The look they exchanged was perplexing and Jim furrowed his brow in confusion, what was it that Spock was seeing?

He didn't get how this was such an issue.

"I believe," Spock continued, "perhaps there is a possibility this transference he mentioned may be what is contributing to your 'dreams' as you refer to them. My estimation is that these are not dreams, but in fact, ghosts of memory that have leached into the forefront of your subconscious."

Jim gaped in astonishment, "Dude! So I'm seeing your future self's memories! That's...that's...really, really... weird."

"I confess, in the turbolift during yesterday's shift, when I grabbed your arm, you accidentally projected a disturbing level of psionic-activity. I had my suspicions as to the cause of such an unlikely presence," Spock said more to himself than to Jim.

It sort of made complete sense. Suddenly, the vessel he'd embodied throughout all the dreams was replaced by an image of Spock.

Which meant, Spock had been through some serious shit.

And somehow had a very enticing sex life to boot.

Jim shifted self-consciously in his chair. This revelation certainly altered his perspective on Spock as a sexual being. Not what he needed to be dwelling on at the moment, however.

"Typically some amount of transference would not be of concern, but in view of your mind's obvious strain in processing these ghosts, perhaps it is better if they were removed."

"What like, you could take them from me? I won't remember anything, but you'll... you will?" Jim flushed red in spite of himself.

Spock raised an eyebrow as he evaluated the reaction, "I assume there must be content of a highly personal nature."

"To say the least. It's sort of a trip realizing that it was you...er... future you in all those dreams, all along, I mean I just thought my head was really fucked up, but now..."

"I am prepared to remove them from you," Spock replied evenly with the smallest hint of insistence in his tone.

For a brief moment, Jim hesitated. Sure, he wanted to be rid of the constant foreign memory dump and severe sleep deprivation, but for a moment he felt jealously possessive of those memories. They weren't his, granted, but he'd experienced and lived them vicariously, and it seemed, like what Spock was suggesting was almost stealing. He had a personal investment in those memories. For a better or for worse, they had changed a part of him that he was wary to admit to Spock.

But the half-Vulcan's point was valid, Spock was only offering to take back what should have been rightfully his in the first place.

"Isn't that going to sort of... mess you up though? I mean, you'll know stuff about your future self that uh... I mean, nobody should be burdened with that kind of knowledge. Besides, I don't know if I want you in my head. I mean what if the transference happens again, and also, I'm not so sure I want to forget everything. I mean, you don't know what it's been like. It's not all been bad. I mean I feel like I know stuff about this ship, about the crew, insight that could be really, really helpful if certain events ever, you know, come to pass."

Spock regarded Jim cautiously, "I recognize your concern, however, I have the Vulcan training and discipline to properly process this information. It should not interfere with me as it has with you. It is completely your choice, but know, these are not your memories that you seem to be so jealously guarding."

"To address some of your other concerns, I am not under the pressure of a time constraint, and I am in complete control of my emotions whereas my counterpart, when he made the rather inappropriate and dangerous choice to meld with you, was not," Spock sighed, "I would say something about possessing an unfair advantage with stolen knowledge, but your point is valid. If certain situations should transpire, perhaps you could utilize your knowledge to our benefit. However, if I possess this information, I too, would possess a similar advantage, which you could trust me to use judiciously."

Jim laughed, "They accuse me of having a hero-complex. I think they got the wrong guy."

Spock, with a signature raise of one eyebrow, said all he needed to say in that expression.

Which was basically, 'please, Captain, attempt to remain serious.'

"If we may return to the subject at hand, as I said, I will not force you to meld with me without your consent."

Jim hesitated, considering.

"They are not yours to keep," Spock pressed.

"Fine, but, can I just ask you something first?"

"If I am capable of answering, I will endeavor to do so as honestly as I am able."

Jim looked down twisting his hands in his lap with nervous indecision.

"It's just that, before you do this, I need to know that you'll be okay, I mean there's this thing, that, I mean I wouldn't have even considered it an issue, but now that I know it's all real and it's you, I just... I know there are ton of things I've obviously missed, but like, there are definitely some things that, for me are pretty out of context, but it's not all sunshine and flower fields, Spock. Who is...do you know of anyone by the name of T'Ila?"

Spock frowned in confusion before his eyes widened with a flash of recognition, "Ah. I am... "

...at an apparently uncharacteristic loss for words.

"I mean, like, you Vulcans have like bondmates right? That's a thing?"

"I... my bondmate perished with the rest of Vulcan," Spock answered carefully, "Her name was T'Pring. We were promised to each other from a young age as is customary within my culture."

"Wait, so you're saying you were married? Holy shit! Was Uhura aware of this?"

"She was not," Spock responded with some degree of irritation, "As I previously informed you, Nyota and I have never been engaged in intimate relations. It would have been highly inappropriate. In any regard, informing her of my impending nuptials was irrelevant."

"Christ Spock! What about that kiss on the transporter pad before you were beamed down to Vulcan?" Jim accused, "You can't say that was platonic!"

"It was a momentary lapse in judgment in an emotionally highly charged moment. It was a..." Spock cringed, "misstep to allow it. Also, T'Pring was not my wife. We were the Terran-equivalent of engaged. Our bonding was not set to take place until much later due to certain matters of Vulcan Biology."

"Vulcan Biology?" Jim repeated, intrigued.

Spock grimaced uncomfortably.

"It is of a highly personal nature, and no outworlder can be permitted such knowledge," he responded as if he was reciting some sort of imprinted law.

"Got it, off limits," Jim waved a hand in the air, gesturing impatiently, "Anyway, about this T'Pring."

"I had a preliminary bond placed with her when we were children which is why I felt the psychic echo of her death. I was informed she was in T'Paal at the time of destruction, not near enough to be rescued."

Jim groaned inwardly with sympathy.

"Spock, for what it's worth, I am so sorry. I regret we couldn't have done anything to prevent... or to get down there in time."

"I am gratified by your condolence but your regret is unnecessary. There was nothing that anyone might have done differently that would have changed the outcome, our bond was weak at best and I have more than adequately recovered from the snapped connection. We were no more than strangers connected for political purpose."

Jim marveled at the impassively cold tone and shook his head, frowning.

"I see that I have come off as unfeeling. I do not wish for you to think I merely assign value to life by the gravity of it's effect on my own. Her's was a casualty that was as much a travesty as any other."

"Spock...I, I think I should warn you. There is someone else. A...'T'...ila', I think her name was? Like I said before? Pretty sure it was T'Ila anyway. She was important. I don't know what happened to her. But I think she meant something to you..."

Jim blushed again in spite of himself, "there were some pretty vivid, uh... things. That I..."

Spock regarded Jim primly, "I see."

It took a minute for Jim to recover from his momentary embarrassment. Vulcan's were notoriously prudish, after all, though, Jim sensed Spock was far less perturbed by receiving this information than he was by delivering it.

"Look, I think something happened to her. You... I mean, Other you seemed pretty shaken up about it. I don't think it's a good idea for you to have that sort of memory. I mean, what if it does come to pass that you meet her, and something does happen..."

Spock frowned in contemplation. He knew the term 'T'hy'la', but was unfamiliar with any female Vulcan name of T'Ila. Whatever the case, the term was old and irrelevant and the alleged bond itself, very, very rare, if not a myth. Those of the First House of Surak, the original founders of Vulcan's New Age of enlightenment, the house of his father, Sarek, retained such knowledge in it's ancient library.

Due to a perfectly eidetic memory, Spock recalled a time when he was very young, very alone and very curious. He had trespassed through his Father's study into the partitioned off sanctuary containing one of the oldest libraries of all of Vulcan and curled up with a well preserved scroll telling of the story of a time before when two men, brothers in arms could be friends, brothers and lovers. It was romantic and illogical and Spock found it fascinating.

It would be dust now, just as the rest of Vulcan, lost in space.

Jim cleared his throat breaking Spock from his revery.

"There is a term, from Earth I believe that you would be familiar with that applies here. It is better to have loved and lost-"

"Than to never loved at all. How poetic, Spock. I didn't realize Vulcan's believed in that kind of thing."

Still in a state of distraction Spock replied matter-of-factly, "A clear misconception that you Terrans are so fond of with regard to Vulcan nature. We feel emotions differently than your species. My Father once informed me that perhaps we felt more strongly, and thus, this, was what compelled our civilization to formulate a process to manage such emotion, to keep it from overcoming reason and allow us to progress as a Society. It is a misnomer that we do not love. Love is a biological imperative. It is..." he paused, pensively, "logical."

Jim was stunned at such a revelation. Never was Spock so forthcoming.

"Fine," Jim announced conclusively, "Take them. They're yours. I have no right to keep you from having them."

Spock nodded and leaned forward to place his fingers just as his counterpart had over Jim's Psi-points.

"I will warn you, I will be inside your head, it will feel like more time has passed than it actually has, I will attempt to be as efficient as possible and remove what I can."

"You won't accidentally take anything that's actually mine?"

"I have had formal training," Spock assured, "though, I have not done this before. However, this will be a mere process of filtration. I can assure you I will do my best to keep from breaching those corners of your mind you do not wish me to see, though you will be unable to control allowing me to access them if you think of them while I am in your conscious. This should be brief, I merely need to locate the wall of your subconscious. These memories that I will take from you reside here, and will be on the forefront."

"So it's like downloading a file, right? And I just gotta keep from thinking too much?"

Spock nearly smirked,"I can understand that might be a hardship for you."

"I also must warn you, this will be...intimate. You will know my thoughts as I know yours, and you will be cognizant of my presence as I travel through your conscious mind. This is not a thing to be undertaken lightly. I... thank you for allowing me to do this."

"Hey, no, I can't wait to sleep without you all up in my head wrecking havoc."

'And be able to maybe have some normal sex again,' Jim censored himself from verbalizing.

"So how will you know what's mine and what's uh...yours?"

"Your thoughts will have a different flavor, so to speak, than my own, though they are from an alternative version of myself, they should present themselves as familiar to me," Spock hesitated looking Jim in the eye with a serious expression, "though, I should also warn you, there may be some overlap of your own feelings and experiences that will veil these memories as you have experienced them to this point. It will confuse you if I do not relieve you of those as well, you will, in a sense, remember the feelings without remembering why you ever felt them if I do not do this, do you understand?"

"So, essentially, what you're saying is you'll get these memories as well as my...er, reaction to them?" Jim blushed.

Damn Other Spock and his apparent skill in the sack.

"I do. You have my permission to do whatever you think is best. I..." Jim sighed, "I trust you, Spock."

"Do I have your permission?" Spock inquired, his fingers pressed lightly against Jim's face.

"Yeah, get on with it," Jim winked, masking his underlying nervousness with a bravado Spock could probably see right through, the perceptive bastard.

"I will pretend you did not just call me a 'bastard'."

"Hey, you're not supposed to be reading my thoughts yet!" Jim defended.

"I cannot help but get some negligible level of bleed-through when my fingers are pressed to your skull, Captain."

"Haha. Okay, fine. Do it."

"Very well. My mind to your mind."

For a moment, Jim was unsure it had actually worked, he was self-consciously aware of Spock's proximity, he could feel the other man's warm breath on his face and his hands pressing against his temple as well as just beneath the ridge of his cheek bone.

'It has worked, Jim,' a disembodied voice responded to his unvoiced question, 'It will just take me a moment to become accustomed to your mind and I will locate your subconscious.'

Jim nervously tried not to think of Spock's inevitable reaction to some of the more personal stuff he'd dreamt about.

'If you can, attempt to relax. You are constructing barriers, Jim. Think of yourself in a place you find restful.'

Jim tried to conjure up an image of the pond by the cornfield he'd used to fish at with Sam as a child, but to his chagrin, the image was replaced by Sam's announcement that he was leaving, and the subsequent anger and betrayal he'd felt at being once again abandoned.

The shouting and accusations and his blind rage at his step-father as he stole the car and drove it off the cliff with callous disregard for his own life when he was unsure whether he'd be able to jump out in time.

He felt Spock's register of surprise and inwardly flinched back with humiliation.

'I... I need you to relax, Jim, this is more difficult than I had anticipated. I did not take into consideration how differently your mind might be organized from that of a Vulcan.'

'You would think I'm doing this on purpose,' Jim accused angrily.

Without any sort of forewarning, this brought on a string of memories he couldn't keep from suddenly pouring to the forefront of his mind; Jim's feeling of exultation the first time he sat in the command chair, the time he sympathetically had gotten wasted with a disconsolate Bones over the news of his rejection of custody of his daughter, the fear and thrill of leaping down after Sulu, the excitement of the first time he'd ever gotten laid, been in love, the haughty success of having beaten the Kobiyashi Maru, the terror at being potentially ejected from Starfleet when he was so close to graduation after years of hitting the books harder than anyone else he knew, the transcendent freedom of escape from Iowa when he'd been on his way to Tarsus, the terror and pain of being starved and used and-

Jim mentally crushed these thoughts with such sudden force, it jolted Spock into a temporal state of displacement, 'Stop! Stop it!' he demanded, unsure of whether he was actually voicing this aloud.

Spock's presence seemed to stagger in his mind momentarily, before Jim was suddenly overcome with a feeling of warm, meditative calm as a figurative hand smoothed it's way across the white-capping sea of emotional chaos.

"It is alright, Jim, I am here,' a voice assuaged, crisp yet placating.

'Rest,' it commanded.

'Suggested,' the voice corrected with mellow confidence.

Jim moaned inwardly, 'you saw all of that, didn't you?'

'I registered only flashes, nothing consequential, I apologize for having not brought you to a meditative state prior to our meld. I have forged one for you from a cache of my own,'

'Nothing inconsequential,' Jim demanded, 'You know about Tarsus IV,'

'I do, and had I known... I am sorry Jim,' Spock's presence softened in sympathy, 'It was not your fault. None of it. No child should ever be put through what you have experienced, I...'

Jim rejected his sympathy, pushing at his presence angrily.

Spock seemed to accept the push with a sort of understanding lassitude.

'No one can judge another for the hardships they have endured, I regret to have found insight into your psyche in such an intrusive way.'

'More ammunition to use against me,' Jim thought rather unfairly.

"Jim, I know you do not think I would be capable of such a trespass. I am not offended. You are angry.'

'You're damn right I'm angry,' Jim mentally bit out.

'I only ever wanted you to respect me,' Jim did not mean to think, cringing hard with shame. Goddamn it. Why couldn't he stamp down these intruding thoughts?

'You don't need to feel shame. It is natural to seek respect.'

What Jim also heard, though it was never mentally voiced was, 'I do respect you.'

'You do respect me,' Jim echoed, chasing the quickly passing thought like a small bird flitting away into the horizon.

'You have a most captivating and vividly colorful mind, Jim,' Spock mused, 'It seems strange that you do not equate my acceptance of a position aboard the Enterprise with the profound respect I have for you. Though I have often questioned whether you were capable of reciprocating it in turn.'

'I'm just an insecure asshole, Spock, of course I respect you, you're amazing,'

Jim kicked himself. Amazing? Really?

Spock seemed amused, 'I am gratified that you think so. I will be pleased to remind you on occasions you seem to forget.'

Jim groaned inwardly, and looked around, for the first time becoming cognizant of his surroundings, 'Is this place yours?'

'It is a desert of Vulcan I traversed during my Kahs-wan. It is where, due to my reckless need to prove my Vulcan heritage I endangered myself and lost my childhood friend.'

Drawing from his memories, Jim suddenly knew exactly what Spock was talking about.

He felt Spock's surprise, 'I see, then you know of the loss of my pet sehlat, L'Chaya.'

Jim echoed a wave of sympathy toward the presence in his mind.

'It was a long time ago, Jim. Now attempt to remain relaxed.'

Jim's mind-self inhaled deeply of the warm, arid desert air, feeling himself go boneless with Spock's suggestion.

Jim felt strangely like he'd been drugged, though the presence seemed to remind him that he had not been, yet the feeling of Spock in his mind was fast becoming a solace, a security, something that shouldn't be, but was strangely familiar and entirely too comfortable, he embraced it in spite of himself and in turn, could recognize the presence unresistingly become compliant in turn.

Like the mental equivalent of holding hands, Jim pondered wonderingly.

The image was shaken as he could suddenly feel Spock accessing and processing the memories. He could feel the other man's apprehension and alarm as he simultaneously attempted to remind Jim that all was fine.

Suddenly, Jim felt the presence yanked away, though he reached after it haplessly, feeling overwhelmed and alone inside his own mind.

It returned a fraction of a second later, apologetic.

'Forgive me, I was... I had not expected the intensity of my emotions. I do not think you could have possibly seen or understood...' Spock expressed disjointedly.

'Spock,' Jim hesistated with concern as he attempted to detect the presence of the memories, 'are they...'

'...Yes, Jim, I have been successful...I...'

Jim felt a flooding, agonizing mix of terror and reluctant, unfamiliar fondness pouring off the man in buckets, 'Spock, are you... okay?'

'Buckets, Jim? That is an inelegant description,' Spock responded with prevaricating amusement.

'Indeed, I am perhaps attempting to mask... you should not inquire, I cannot control what...'

Jim suddenly felt a strong pull of curiosity, what had Spock seen that could shake his imperturbable disposition to such an extent?

'Please, do not ask of me what I...'

Spock felt to Jim suddenly so weak and drained, Jim grew fearful,

'I am...I do not...my Jim, my T'-' Spock cut himself off, straining himself to block himself from Jim's curiosity and grabby-handed mind.

'I am...well enough, do not...'

' 'My...Jim'? Your Jim...? Your what?' Jim demanded, alarmed by the familiarity, 'Was that like an endearment or something?'

'Do not ask me anything more, I must leave you now before I-'

Jim heard the tail end of that statement, '-am tempted to remain and do something regrettable,'

'Wait, why would you-' Jim pressed.

'I will require a period of adjustment,' Spock's mind interjected, 'I must meditate on what I have encountered in these memories, do not burden yourself with concern for me, Jim.'

At first, Jim felt overcome by a sense of acute, echoing and unfamiliar pain before a tremulous presence blanketed his mind with a feeling of general well-being.

What had seemed like hours had of course been mere minutes, and for a moment, accustoming himself to the gravity of reality was momentarily jarring.

Jim and Spock snapped opened their eyes simultaneously and Spock withdrew his hand, trembling. Jim's lingering sense of odd buoyancy was quickly dissipating as he registered Spock's obvious unease.

"You do not recall the memories," Spock inquired, looking anywhere but at Jim.

"Well, no, I mean, I remember them being there. Like I remember something keeping me from sleeping or... I don't know. When I try to think about it it's like there's a gap..." The more Jim attempted to reflect on whatever it was, it seemed to slip further and further away from retrieval, "I mean, it doesn't really bother me or anything. It's kind of like blacking out after a heavy night of drinking, I guess."

He shrugged, "Why, was there something important? I... don't recall much other than talking to you right before... I mean there was something about a T'pring or...I mean... a T'Ila. I I think I saw a desert or something. That was you, wasn't it? And we talked for a bit. I was mad at you, I don't remember what about, and then you told me to relax and I... I relaxed. I mean I still am. Relaxed. Christ, Spock, what did you do up there? I barely remember anything."

"I do not think it would be prudent for you to recall all of what has occurred," Spock responded in clipped tone, stiffly clenching his hands at his knees.

An uneasy thought occurred to Jim, "Are you just covering your ass because you saw more than you were supposed to?"

"If you are asking whether I know about Tarsus, I do," Spock tiredly raised a hand to calm Jim before he could spiral into a tirade, "If you think back, you will recall some of what we discussed before I entered your subconscious, I did not see everything and I managed to put up a wall before you flooded me with too much information. I did not take anything from you other than what was never yours in the first place."

Jim huffed irritably and calmed as he looked back, verifying what Spock told him to be true.

"Okay, yeah. You saw some stuff I didn't want you to see."

Jim sighed and pulled a hand through his ruffled hair.

"I do remember some story you told me from your childhood, but it doesn't make too much sense out of context," Jim paused, "Are you okay, Spock? Honestly? You sort of look like a cat dropped in a cold bath."

"That...is a peculiar metaphor."

"Seriously, you aren't going to be sick or anything?"

"I," Spock glanced up at Jim with an exposing look of vulnerability, "I am well, though I need to meditate before the start of shift, it was...taxing. There is much I must think on."

Jim frowned, "So... are we good then? I...uh... thank you. I mean it. I feel like my old self again. I didn't expect to feel this... good."

"Clarify your meaning," Spock requested, once again avoiding his eyes, looking at the floor like it was by far more fascinating.

Which was a little insulting to be honest. After all, they were sort of brain-buddies now right?

"I mean...are we... going to be on better terms now?"

"I think that is entirely up to you, Captain, but I do not bear you any ill will, particularly in light of certain new information."

"Um... great? I mean, I'm not going to pry or anything, but you were acting really weird there for a moment, if you want to talk about it or something, you know, sometime...or you know, hang out and not talk about it, that's fine, too." Jim offered.

"I will consider doing so in due time," Spock cringed, looking oddly pained, "If that is all, I must excuse myself."

"Yeah, Okay, Spock, go ahead. I'll meet you down in awhile for our shift, then."

With this dismissal, without another word, Spock fled like his tail was on fire leaving a very confused and slightly worried, yet happier and healthier version of Jim in his wake.

0000

tbc. Of course.


End file.
